by Nikki Dudley
“You’ve grown a beard”, she comments. She is noting the changes one by one, hoping to get past the surface. Yet Thom hopes she gets lost in unwrapping the bandages and his clump of facial hair.
“I just haven’t shaved. No reason”, Thom tells her, wiping off the small hint of a smile on her lips.
“I’ve been trying to call you, as you’ve probably realised...” Emma drops her eyes to her lap, probably not wanting to hear what he has to say about this. What explanation would be a good one?
“I’m sorry. I needed some time... and quiet”.
The couple know there is an undertone to the conversation, words and thoughts that are being trapped beneath their tongues and inside their heads. The words and thoughts are cockroaches that struggle to surface in view of others and prefer to scuttle around in the safety of darkness.
“I know you needed time. I’ve left you for three weeks, wondering how you are every day. I only called because I thought it’d be easier if I made the first move”. Emma is leaning closer but Thom shrinks into the arm of the sofa and ignores her.
“You were probably right to think so”, Thom agrees blankly.
“Then why didn’t you answer one of my calls?”
“I’m sorry. I just had nothing to say”. He shrugs. Emma doesn’t respond to this, she falls silent. For several minutes, they both find sanctuary in the rhythm of the clock on the mantelpiece. It chugs onwards, regulating their jumpy heartbeats for a small period at least.
“Who is that woman?” Emma finally ventures.
“We met about a week ago. She’s having trouble with her rent so Aunty Val invited her to stay”.
“Where did you meet?”
“In the front garden, if you must know”, Thom answers, realising it sounds completely insane as he hears it. Yet, he has accepted it readily as it happened, as though meeting people in the front garden is a regular occurrence.
“In the front garden?” Emma repeats slowly, like someone who is speaking English as a second language.
“I know it’s not ordinary but that’s how it happened”.
“What was she doing in the front garden?” Emma persists but Thom cuts her down, “Look, I don’t have to explain my whole life to you”.
“That’s not what I’m asking”, Emma tells him, folding her arms.
“I’m sorry about this”, Thom says quietly after another few minutes of silence. The room feels hot so he goes over to the window and pulls it up. The cold wind hardly affects his bandaged hands. Across the road, he sees the stranger with the photo getting into a car and turning the ignition on. With one last look at the house, seeing Thom, the man pulls off quickly and his lights disappear within a few seconds. Thom almost wonders if he imagined it.
“I think you want to talk to me but you’re holding back for some reason. What is it Thom?” Emma can’t help but let her affection for him resurface. After all, as far as she is concerned, until about ten minutes ago, nothing had been different between them. Thom’s head droops, disgusted that his love for Emma seems to have become buried between all the half-clues and mysteries surrounding Daniel’s death. Where have his old feelings gone? All he feels now is curiosity, anger, and infatuation.
“I have things I need to do”, Thom reveals, not answering her question. Emma waits for something more and Thom only adds, “I can’t go back to my old life now”.
“Everyone has to go back sometime. Everyone has to get over losing someone”, Emma says, not understanding the situation. Yet, it is not her fault. Thom has kept her separate.
“It’s not about that. It’s not about losing Daniel. I just have to find answers”.
“Have you spoken to the police, Thom? Did they tell you what happened?”
“They haven’t even bothered with him. They don’t care enough”.
“I have no idea why you’re isolating yourself, Thom”.
Thom watches her approach him in the reflection on the window pane. He doesn’t move away, yet doesn’t turn to greet her either. He watches her bow her head.
“I’m not. I just can’t explain all this to anyone, even if I tried. I need to work on things. I need to learn more myself”.
“Have you spoken to Aunty Val about all this stuff?”
“Only some. No one would understand it. I have to wait”. Thom is being deliberately short, almost relishing the air of mystery he is creating. He imagines he is a renegade detective who will win the case in the end and reveal his amazing discoveries to all those involved! Yet Thom knows real life isn’t like this, he is no Sherlock Holmes or the like. He is an ordinary man who is just as lost as anyone else would be given the same facts and clues.
“You sound a little crazy”, Emma tosses his way.
“Sarah doesn’t think so”, he bites back.
“Right, who is this woman and what the hell is she doing here?”
In response, Thom does something he himself doesn’t understand. He spins round and laughs. After weeks of depression, he finds himself laughing, when there is nothing amusing around him. Emma immediately withdraws a few paces. She is looking at him as if he has just cut his own hand off. He simmers to a chuckle and then only smiles. Still watching him in half-fear and confusion, Thom approaches her, grabs her and kisses her. Emma is rigid in his hold but lets him continue, opening her mouth slightly to allow him in. When he lets her go, she settles on the back of the sofa like someone who has merely tolerated something.
“Who is she, Thom?”
“Sarah. She’s a nice girl who’s been no trouble to us. She needed help and we were there for her. Is it okay to help someone else or not?”
“You know I wouldn’t mind that”, Emma says, taking a breath and trying to rephrase it, “I’m just not sure you should be welcoming strange people into your life right now. You’re the one who needs some help and you need your close family, me – people you can trust”. Emma has a good point of course, but Thom won’t allow her to win.
“I can trust Sarah. You don’t know her”.
“You hardly seem to know her”, Emma argues hopefully. Thom can’t understand this himself. He feels as though someone has written Emma out of the story of his life and Sarah has been written in instead. Yet he can’t tell Emma these things. He can only push her away and hope she realises how deep he has fallen into a white hole where there are endless possibilities and directions he can go.
“I love you”, Emma confesses. Thom freezes, taking in her sincere tone. He has flashbacks of them laying in bed at weekends, tangled in the covers, her soft voice whispering those words, the movement of her throat on his shoulder where she is resting it. He is sure the movement and vibration would be exactly the same now. Yet he closes his eyes and the white world recaptures him.
“I’m sorry Emma”, Thom manages. He feels certain in his mind, or at least he thinks he is. His body, however, seems to be swaying slightly, his eyelid twitching.
“I’ll come back, Thom. Just to see how you are”, Emma promises, gathering up her handbag and coat. “I didn’t realise you would still be in such a state”.
“I’m not in a state”, Thom sulks. “I’m getting things sorted now”.
“If you say so, Thom”. She nods, unconvinced and makes her way towards the door. Just as she opens it, Thom’s legs go soft. He grabs onto the edge of the sofa.
“Emma”, he calls out. She peeks back around the door at him, her spark still not diminished. Perhaps this is why he says, “There’s nothing going on with Sarah”, because she still believes in him.
Emma nods and asks, “So she doesn’t know about these ‘things’ you need to sort out either?”
“No she doesn’t. She doesn’t know anything”.
Thom and Emma both seem comforted by the words, neither knowing quite why. Thom likes to think it is because he is neither together with her, nor together with Sarah so that’s some consolation at least. There is a way back for them.
“You know my number”, Emma tells him, clearly
hoping this isn’t the end. Thom nods and lets the door close behind her.
27 Red Trail
Who does he think he is? I know nothing? How dare he tell that stupid bitch that I know nothing? I’ve been around him more than she has the last few weeks. He hasn’t even phoned her back. But why does he care what she thinks of me anyway? I can tell he was just trying to reassure her, let her know that she’s not the only one in the dark. But how can he say that?
I’ve definitely seen what’s been going on: his moods, his obsessive examination of certain strange objects, his comings and goings, his relationship with his aunt. I may not know exactly what he’s thinking or doing but I do know more than he told her.
He pretends that I’m not really in his life, yet he seems to want me around. He wants to protect me, as I saw with Michael. He wants to be near me but at the same time is afraid. I know these things, probably more than he does himself! And now, I am only more determined to find out something about Daniel. I will find out how and why Daniel planned for me to push him, and that way I’ll prove I know more than Thom thinks. He’ll be shocked when I tell him all the things I’ve found out.
Mum, we’ll prove him wrong, won’t we? Of course, I won’t tell him I pushed Daniel; that’s our secret.
It had been hard to listen through the living room door but I managed to catch most of it. My skin burnt hearing them together, sharing a connection, her trying to crawl underneath his skin and see the damage. After all, where has she been all this time? I have been the one turning on lights for Thom, leaving him food, watching he and his family day and night, swabbing Thom’s slashed skin. I deserve to hear his plans, his need to find things out and discover what things mean.
The first thing I have to do is talk to Thom; perhaps even find out exactly what he’s been up to. He might be willing to tell me, everyone likes to halve a burden when they can. And I am the perfect outlet. He doesn’t want to hurt Val, and Richard isn’t interested in anything being harder than it is.
Why can’t Thom see me? Why doesn’t he tell me about the objects he stares at for hours? Why won’t he stop being afraid?
I really thought that Michael might have succeeded in turning Thom against me. Yet fate seems to have saved me. Perhaps because fate knows that this family needs saving and I am the one who can protect them. Yet at this moment, all I want to do is prove I can find out the truth, the plot that led up to the climax as the train bulldozed Daniel out of the family’s lives, the reason he led me to them.
When Thom lets Emma out, I am sitting at the top of the stairs again. As he turns back, his face drained, he sees me. He freezes for a millisecond, clearly wondering if, or what, I heard. I smile, writhing inside. Reassured, he returns the gesture and walks slowly towards the kitchen.
Later that night, as he sleeps, I creep into Daniel’s room again. Closing the door quietly, I turn the light on.
This is where it begins Mum; the answers…
From the doorway, all the way across the carpet, there is the red trail of blood that Thom left behind. I tiptoe across the trail and arrive at the wardrobe, still gutted. I peel the door away and place it on the ground. The cracked pieces of mirror make a jingling giggle against the carpet. I reach inside the wardrobe and let my fingers dance along the wood inside, each surface, the corners. I find nothing.
Next I open the small drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe. Nothing either. Yet just as it is about to close, I see it. On the left side of the drawer, carved in red pen, is a combination. Underneath that there is a street number and a street name. I wrench the drawer out and it tumbles onto my lap.
Mum – it’s here!
Remembering where I am, I sit still for a moment and listen to the movements of the house. Yet there seems to be only ordinary noises, no one has awoken. I give my attention back to the tattooed wood and feel blood rushing to my fingertips that I press against the words. I almost don’t have to read them with my eyes because I can feel their shape. If I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful, I forget then. These carved words are a salvation, a way into a maze that I have only just realised I want to enter.
I memorise those numbers and words. In a few days, I’ll follow them to wherever they want to take me. Weeks and months after his death, Daniel is still leading me. This revelation once again is like a set meal, easy and comforting in one sense, yet depressing and controlling in another.
As I am returning the drawer to its place I hear the click of the door handle. The door begins to open as I get to my feet. Although instead of Thom as expected, it is Richard who materializes.
“What’s going on?” he pulls at his left ear as though it is helping him wake up.
“Nothing. I thought I heard something in here”.
“And is there anything in here?” he persists, looking doubtful.
“No. There’s nothing”, I say but inside my heart dances with my discovery.
“No ghosts? No poltergeists?” Richard mocks. He is scanning the room, perhaps surprised to see the trail of blood and the carcass of the wardrobe, yet he doesn’t mention it.
“Why, have you seen one?” I retort. He has hardly spoken to me. Every time he sees me, he looks at me as though I’m wearing a prison uniform or brandishing a knife.
“No”, he answers; his lip and nose curling upwards.
“Well then, let’s get back to bed then”.
I make to move past him but his hand springs out and grasps my arm. His face is close to mine. His eyes seem to be flickering, like he is staring into fire and the heat is twisting its tongue in the air in front of his face.
“I don’t know who you are”, he tells me, “but you’d better not hurt my family. They’ve had enough”. He reminds me of a child standing up to a bully for the first time, worried it will result in a heavier beating.
“I don’t want to hurt your family”, I say truthfully.
“What do you want then?” Richard’s hand seems to be trembling slightly. Goose bumps have risen on his bare arm from the cold of the air or the cold of my manner. This must be what keeps him away from me.
“I want to be their friend”. I want to understand your brother Daniel, I add to myself.
“Okay”, Richard whispers, as though I had been asking his permission. As far as I am concerned, he is irrelevant.
“I’m going to bed now”, I tell him and without realizing, glance behind at the drawer that contains the secret message I have discovered. When I have left the room, Richard stares in the direction in which I glanced and tries to see something revealing but all he can make out is a broken wardrobe, a door laid out like a body having jumped to its death and the blobs of blood scattered on the carpet like paint splattered without consideration.
28 Red m & m’s
“I bought you some m & m’s”, I tell Thom and take the place next to him on the front step. He is open-mouthed for a moment, looking like I have just handed him a bar of gold and then smiles brightly.
“I love m & m’s. Thanks”. It is pure joy beaming out of him and although I still feel angry with him about last night, it makes me proud in the same instance.
He tears open the packet and unashamedly begins his ritual of eating them in a certain order. I have only watched this from afar several times and I can’t help but stare. Now that I am so close to him, I can see the chocolate melting into his fingerprints, the m & m’s brand on each sweet, hear the crunching of the shells and nuts under his teeth.
He has eaten four when he offers me the pack. Despite holding it towards me, I see he is biting his lip. I doubt he is being greedy, more concerned that his ritual is being interrupted. I reach carefully into the packet and luckily; my fingers emerge with a red one. I squeal quietly.
“You got your favourite”, he notices and after several seconds’ hesitation continues; “my favourite is the yellow”. He is currently making his way through the blue ones. He hasn’t touched any but the brown and blue ones. Next, he will progress to the red, the green and fin
ally his beloved yellow.
“They insist they all taste the same but I’ve tried them all and I’m happiest when it’s the yellow last”. He lowers his head as he talks.
I want to tell him I love his quirk and could watch it for hours. Yet, I don’t want to scare him so instead I say, “You have to do what you enjoy”. He appreciates this, rolling a red sweet around on his tongue and finally biting into it.
“It’s nice you didn’t laugh at me”.
“Has anyone before?”
“I’ve had some strange looks!”
For the first time in weeks, Thom seems relaxed. His muscles are allowing him to smile. How long will it last though?
“How was Emma last night?” I ask, almost pushing him to lose his smile. He falters slightly but manages to shrug it off.
“Okay, I guess. I just can’t be what she wants at the moment”.
“And what does she want you to be?”
“My old self”. Thom shrugs again, finally moving onto the yellow. He takes each one and holds it in his mouth, letting his tongue absorb the luminous taste.
“What are you like now?” I am desperate to know. Part of me wishes I’d seen him being his ‘old self’. Would I have liked him then?
“I have more in my head”, he says but frowns instantly, unsure this is what he wants to say. He opens his mouth again but, straight after, closes it and shakes his head.
“What’s in your head?”
“Lots of thoughts and questions and ideas”.
“Isn’t that what everyone’s head is filled with?”
Thom appreciates the comment, giving me a small smile. “I guess it depends what all those things are related to”.
“And yours are related to Daniel?”
“I guess that’s obvious to you, being around me”. Thom takes his last sweet and considers it before devouring it like the rest. He crumples the wrapper and stuffs it into his pocket.